One in the Same
by Kaiyojin Kobayashi
Summary: Elizaveta treated Roderich and his music as separate entities; for how could a sound so beautiful come from someone so cold?  Are the two of them really so different?  What line defines differences, anyway? Mostly AU, but with historical references. 'T'
1. Shattered

_**Hey there readers! This is my first Hetalia fanfic, and I'm super excited to see where this goes!**_

_**I've been meaning to write one for quite some time now, but I haven't had any inspiration. But last night, I had a weird dream and crazy ideas ensued…and this is the product.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**_

_**Rated 'T' to be safe...Don't know if that will change...**_

_**Enjoy!**_

-X-

The sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the hall and into the kitchen, where Elizaveta Hedervary flinched.

Then there was silence, and a certain young Italian struggled to figure out what to do.

"E-Elizaveta…?" The boy hiccupped in his high-pitched voice.

The maid sighed, for she was elbow-deep in soapy dishwater, and the day had gone by without incident, so, inevitably, some kind of disaster had to occur before the day was done.

"It's alright, Feliciano. I'll take care of it," she responded.

"G-Grazie. Scusarsi, Elizaveta." There was a pause, both of them wondering if the other would break the tension.

"Why don't you go sweep the walk?" The Hungarian girl suggested, caving. However, both she and the Italian knew that there was nothing to sweep, it had already been done; he simply wasn't capable of completing any other chore.

"Si…" He obliged, downhearted, knowing there was little he could do for her. Elizaveta heard the hall closet opening and clicking shut, signifying Feliciano had retrieved the broom.

Elizaveta had just dried off her soap-covered arms; only moments after Feliciano had gone outside, when she heard a _crunch_ and a disgruntled "Arggh!" The outcry reverberated in the foyer as the dishes had done, until it, too, finally receded.

More silence. Elizaveta daren't move.

"Miss Hedervary." It wasn't a question. He knew the wreckage was Feliciano's doing, but he either didn't have the heart to blame the young one, or he didn't garner the satisfaction from yelling at him as he did with Elizaveta. She thought it was the latter, not giving her master the benefit of the doubt.

She exited the kitchen, pivoting to the left where the debris resided, noting the extra unwanted addition: her employer, Roderich Edelstein.

"Miss Hedervary." She kept her back ramrod straight, eyes half lidded, chin up, face expressionless: the very picture of the obedient servant. Excepting, of course, the poisonous thoughts raging through her mind—one of which wishing he wasn't wearing shoes when he stepped on the shattered china. She continued to grumble internally, inventing new mishaps to befall the completely aware Austrian when her schemes were interrupted.

"Did you plan on leaving this here?" He continued sarcastically. "By all means, if cleaning this mess is too much trouble, I can hire someone else to take care of it." He matched her hard expression, baiting her with freedom, autonomy, knowing that if she ever did leave, Sadiq would snatch her up, using her in a way Roderich never would.

And she hated him for it. She hated his pompousness, his easy, lavish lifestyle. Gentlemanly he did appear, but his facetious words tormented her in a way that made her prefer being hit. At least then she'd have an excuse to retaliate. Violence was easy. Too easy.

"No, Sir," Elizaveta responded dutifully, "I was just coming to clean the hall."

"But it didn't occur to you to hurry, knowing that I would have to come down eventually." He cocked one eyebrow, daring her to disagree.

At this she bowed, showing humility she didn't feel, knowing she was bloody in the water with a shark swimming ever nearer.

"Mr. Edelstein knows I serve him to my full ability," she said to the hardwood floor. "And that I would never act in any way to harm him."

Roderich sniffed at her, gloating in the show of her remorse, knowing she didn't mean it, but relishing in the fact that she had no choice.

"If this is your full ability, Miss Hedervary, I am severely disappointed." His eyes narrowed. "I expect more than this if you are to continue living here."

Elizaveta shut her eyes, hiding in her thick curtain of auburn hair, recognizing the defeat she would never let Roderich see.

-X-

Elizaveta didn't sleep well that night.

Feliciano was crying, both over the events of the evening and Holy Rome's departure. She didn't go to him, knowing it would hurt him more to know his pain was hers.

Even though it was well after midnight, the threat of dawn fast approaching, Roderich was at his piano, playing his emotions away. Despite the fact that pretending her master was as full of emotion as a tarnished teapot would have made it easier for her to hate him, Elizaveta found that she could not. She treated Roderich and his music as separate entities, however, for nothing as beautiful as his music could possibly come from someone so cold and callous.

She reveled in the music. She floated with it; let it carry her far away from the mansion to happier and sadder places—she was delighted to go anywhere she wasn't trapped. The notes danced and swayed, pulling her along with Roderich's emotions. She felt the tragedies, the fear, the anguish and despair. But alongside these, came light, only occasionally, but their softness spoke volumes.

Happiness came very rarely in Roderich's life; and for this, she pitied him. She could understand the emptiness that came with being alone, and the burden it brings, with each passing day, the horror in the realization that the shroud of loneliness will never end. And the oblivion that waits at the end of the line will be a welcoming embrace; at least then it is impossible to feel pain. For what good is it to live when there is no one to share it with?

The song ended, the last mournful peal ringing in the silence. A single tear slid down Elizaveta's cheek. It was not from self-pity; Elizaveta had grown out of that long ago. It was from knowing she and Roderich had experienced the same hardships, the same cruelties in their lives. And this similarity, somehow, had served to drive them apart.

Silence again—Feliciano had stopped crying, Elizaveta realized. She dearly hoped he was asleep, dreaming of places safer and far brighter than this magnificent prison in Austria.

-X-

_**End of Chapter 1~!**_

_**My original idea was actually quite silly; I'm not sure if it will fit with this angsty storyline. But if I can get it to fit, I'll put it in. If not, I'll make it a one-shot later.**_

_**Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated, and I hope to get Chapter 2 out as soon as possible!**_

_**~Kaiya**_

_****Grazie: Thank you**_

_****Scusarsi: Sorry**_


	2. Encounter

_**I now proudly present Chapter 2~!**_

_**I am writing this as quickly as possible—within reason, of course.**_

_**Huge thanks and hugs go to **_angelwings263 _**and **_bbissocute _**for their wonderful reviews!**_

_**Once again, I do not own Hetalia.**_

-X-

Roderich never slept in past five thirty.

Every morning he got up, splashed cold water on his face, straightened his cravat, and went to the piano room.

This morning was no exception.

He usually had time to complete one piece before he was interrupted by Elizaveta for his morning tea.

Right on schedule, there was a light rap on the door.

"Enter," Roderich responded.

Elizaveta never said a word, for fear she may spark her master's ire too early. She silently laid out the tea tray on the delicate side table, the only noise in the grand room the soft clinking of china. She poured the tea, adding a splash of cream and two lumps of sugar, already knowing how her master took his tea. For a tyrant, he had quite a sweet tooth.

"Thank you, Miss Hedervary."

Elizaveta curtsied and exited the room.

Roderich took a sip of his tea: perfect, as always, and sighed lightly. He took another sip and gazed out the enormous window that stretched from the pillow-covered window seat to the ceiling. He looked out on the back lawn where there was a lush, grassy hill that was home to the orange tree grove.

There was a light breeze; Roderich noticed from the way the leaves twinkled and flirted with one another. His precious edelweiss brushes were dancing, too, in the small garden right by the mansion, but in a more reserved, stoic manner.

He saw Elizaveta outside with a basket of freshly washed linens to hang outside. Feliciano was skipping alongside her merrily, ecstatic to be anywhere with her. He stopped to pick one of the many brightly colored wildflowers that never left Roderich's yard, and presented the bright pink blossom to her proudly.

She accepted it with a cheery curtsy, not unlike the one she gave to Roderich moments ago, and a smile, the only difference, and tucked it behind her ear. Somehow she managed to perform the act gracefully, despite the large basket full of wet sheets leaning on her left hip.

The two reached the lines and Elizaveta set down the basket. When she stood back up, the wind caught her hair and blew it back behind her until it resembled a banner; the bluster tried to tug the blossom free, and when Elizaveta held it in place, it went for her skirts, making them wave. Feliciano did not hold his own skirts down, however, and was nearly knocked over by the strength of the wind in his petticoats.

Roderich could tell from the way Elizaveta's shoulders were shaking that she was laughing. Still smiling, she bent down and straightened Feliciano's dress. Elizaveta brushed her hand through his messy brown hair and stood up, smoothing her own skirt.

Roderich continued to watch them. They developed a system: Feliciano would grab a fistful of something in the basket, Elizaveta would let him work until he got frustrated, then she would pluck out the sheet and clip it to the line.

The gentle process continued until there was a sea of linens swelling in the wind, making the tide come in and out. Feliciano hopped in between the sheets, playing hide and seek with the butterflies and an indulgent Elizaveta.

The merriment ceased when Feliciano fell, tripped, Roderich presumed, but Elizaveta reacted quickly. She artfully flung the last sheet over the line, rushed to the distressed Italian, and examined his knee expertly. She then scooped him up, and held him close. One arm was wrapped underneath Feliciano and the other held his head to her shoulder as she swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the breeze.

Roderich watched the scene play out, a heavy emotion weighing him down.

He set his tea aside, unfinished. It was cold.

Roderich stood up stiffly and marched out of the room, bumping into the side table, not bothering to pick up the teapot that was pouring tea onto the floor in a waterfall.

-X-

Elizaveta rocked Feliciano until his sniffles subsided. She shut her eyes and let the scent of orange blossoms and edelweiss wash over her. Despite how much she despised being stuck in one place, Elizaveta had to admit it was beautiful here. She still longed for her home in Hungary, of course, but there was a peacefulness and serenity she found here amongst the aroma of edelweiss that evaded her in her own country.

Even with her eyes shut, Elizaveta sensed when there was something amiss on the quiet hill. A new odor was carried by the wind—a sort of heavy musk, almost like incense—mixing more with the oranges than the edelweiss. Elizaveta's old huntress instincts kicked in; she angled her back toward the orange grove, shielding Feliciano. Though she was loathe to run away from a conflict to break the monotony, Elizaveta would never put her beloved Feliciano in danger—not the real kind anyway. And this was definitely real.

Elizaveta would have preferred it if Feliciano had stayed asleep through the inevitable confrontation, but, alas, he was never one for short naps; he had too much energy.

"Nngh…" Feliciano groaned tiredly.

"Feliciano? Feliciano, I need you to stay quiet, dear," Elizaveta whispered in his ear.

Alert now to the tension in Elizaveta's voice, even though Elizaveta had tried to cover it, Feliciano whispered back, "Why, Betta?"

Elizaveta's heart wrenched at the use of his nickname for her, the one he used when he was tired, afraid, or trying to weasel sweets and pasta and the held him tighter.

"There is someone here," she told him. "And I don't know if he is a friend."

Feliciano's tiny fists gripped her apron, getting lost in the starched fabric. She took this as an acknowledgement and swore to drive away this thing that caused her Feliciano any fright.

She pivoted sharply toward the orange trees, immediately noticing the large silhouette of a man coming out of the trees.

"My, my, my, young Roderich does enjoy his luxuries." His voice was deep and heavily accented from a language Elizaveta didn't recognize. He wore a mask that covered half his face that left only the dark of his eyes for the world to see. He was garbed in long robes of scarlet and a large hat, not caring to be invisible. He walked easily, with a slight lilt to his gait, with all the confidence in the world. It was the walk of someone who knew no opposition.

"Luxuries it seems," the imposing man continued, "he does not see fit to share." He looked directly at Elizaveta when he said this.

Feliciano whimpered and Elizaveta finally found her voice.

"Mr. Edelstein is engaged at the moment," she lied, knowing instinctively Roderich would never have any dealings with this man. "But if you'd like, I can deliver a message when he is no longer occupied." Elizaveta took a small moment to pride herself in the assuredness of her voice.

"You know something, my dear?" He asked lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. "I don't think you're being entirely truthful."

Elizaveta stiffened, no longer sure of herself and her ability to protect Feliciano.

The dark man chuckled. "But I will forgive you, just this once."

Silence hung in the air like the sheets, disturbed only by the wind.

"It seems your audience disbanded," the foreigner commented, blasé. "Pity, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy the view from the piano room."

At this, Elizaveta spun around sharply, looking now toward the mansion, hoping for any sign of life that could help her. But Roderich's music room was empty.

Elizaveta's heart was racing; she had to think quickly. "He had a meeting this morning," she lied again, only this time her voice did shake.

Another chuckle—right behind her.

Elizaveta inhaled sharply, terrified. His husky breath wafted past her ear and into her mouth; it tasted overbearingly sweet.

He was enormous and towered over her; Elizaveta had never felt so small. His presence loomed over her like a storm cloud: menacing and powerful.

The man reached one hand up, as if to caress her cheek. Elizaveta couldn't move as paralyzed as she was by fear.

_Slap._ He withdrew his hand, surprised that the small one had hit him. To the surprise of all, little Feliciano had hit the frightening man. Feliciano glared up at him as best as he could—despite his lower lip quivering.

Now the man laughed aloud. "It seems I have underestimated you two," He said as he turned around, back toward the orange trees. Elizaveta also turned, not willing to let her eyes leave him again.

"Until next time." He didn't turn his head to look at them. He only raised his land lazily, not bothering to see if the two of them were still standing there.

Elizaveta only watched him long enough to see him disappear into the trees. Then she ran.

-X-

_**I hope I'm not irritating anyone with my unceremonious endings…They just happen that way. :P**_

_**Well, I have some info for you:**_

_**-"Betta" was Feliciano's nickname for Elizaveta I chose from the Italian version of Elizabeth, "Elisabetta".**_

_**-This story is mostly AU, but it is loosely set in the early 1600's when Turkey started getting active in Europe—before the Austro-Hungarian Empire.**_

_**Reviews bring me much happiness; I will love you forever if you leave any sort of comment.**_

_**There even may be a cookie in it for you~**_

_**~Kaiya**_


	3. Moonlight

_**Finally Chapter 3! I apologize for taking so long on this one. **_

_**It was unbelievably difficult to write!**_

_**Enjoy~!**_

_**Once again, I do not own Hetalia.**_

-X-

Elizaveta snuck back into the mansion through the servant's door in the kitchen. The only way to access it was through the garden shed, and the door was hidden behind one of the many shelves. It led lead to a dark, but mercifully short, passageway that entered the house and ended in the pantry.

Feliciano still in her arms, Elizaveta looked around the dim room, crept into the hallway, and headed towards servants' wing of the mansion.

She tucked Feliciano into bed. When she turned to leave, she heard him whisper, "Betta, I'm afraid." He sniffled and let out a small cry.

Heartbroken, she went back to him, shushing him softly. "Don't be afraid, _kicsi_, I'm here." He looked up at her, eyes large and trusting.

She began to sing:

_Le szált a csendes ég  
Alszik a város  
Aludgy már te is fiam  
Álmodma tündér szép országra álmod  
Álmodját szép gyermekem_

_Álmodba álmogyál tündér mesékröl  
Halgas a szivem szavát  
Szeres úgy engem mint  
Ahogy én tégem  
Kis fiam jó écakát._

_The quiet sky has set;  
the city is sleeping.  
Go to sleep also my son,  
in your sleep may you dream fairytale stories.  
Dream away my beautiful child._

_In your dream may you dream fairy tale stories,  
Listen to the song of my heart  
Love me with all your heart  
As I love you dear,  
My little boy I wish you good night._

Feliciano had tried his best, but he succumbed to sleep before she finished. Elizaveta smiled tenderly, and brushed Feliciano's unruly bangs out of his face. She leaned in and kissed his forehead gently.

"_Jó éjszakát, kicsi_," Elizaveta whispered. She stood up, and walked out, shutting the door inaudibly behind her.

-X-

Roderich was going back down to his rooms after a long conversation with Antonio, when he heard a sweet, delicate voice, coming from the lower floor.

He followed the sound to the source: the servants' quarters. The voice was distinctly female, and it was being sung in a language that was definitely not German. His subconscious already knew to whom the voice belonged, but Roderich was itching to know for certain.

He continued to follow his ears, and it lead him to little Feliciano's room. Inside, was Elizaveta, her shapely form haloed by the moonlight streaming in through the tiny window, singing softly in her rich, smooth accent. The effect of it all was quite ethereal, and it took Roderich's breathe away.

If he were to write a song for this moment, about the way the pearly light caressed her cheeks and hugged every contour of her body…He imagined a haunting melody, one that would cause his heart to lurch with the feeling behind the notes, and other places, besides.

Staring again, Roderich felt irrationally jealous. Not of Feliciano, no. But of the light—the otherworldly light—that was allowed to be so close, so intimate with her, when he himself was hopelessly forbidden.

The song was over. He heard her say goodnight to Feliciano, and Roderich snuck into the shadows to avoid being discovered.

-X-

Elizaveta went to her own room, now, exhausted. She turned the handle to her door easily (it was not allowed to be locked) and her attention was immediately drawn to a splash of crimson on her white bed sheets.

Shutting the door, Elizaveta walked over to the bed to further inspect the object.

It was a flower; that much, at least, was certain. But it was rotten. Vile and fetid, it carried the ghastly aroma of raw meat that had been sitting out in the sun. Yet, there was a sort of unbearable, cloying sweetness that clung to it, smothering the blossom. The waxy petals were swollen and oozed a sticky, sap-like fluid that coated Elizaveta's trembling fingers.

Shock registered in her mind as Elizaveta recognized the bloom, and the warning it signified—it was a tulip.

Terrified, Elizaveta threw the sickening flower into her fireplace, stroking the dying embers until the whole hearth was ablaze. She choked on the putrid odor of the burning plant. Stopping only to scrub the sap off of her fingers in her basin, fighting the urge to vomit, Elizaveta sprinted out of her chamber, wild-eyed with fear.

Elizaveta burst out of the back door—the one that lead to the orange grove. She gulped in massive lungfuls of fresh air, cringing at the sight of the hanging linins. Gagging once more, Elizaveta clutched at the stitch in her side, clinging to the doorframe for support. She relieved her heaving stomach in the scrubs by the house, hoping their voluptuous leaves would hide her disgrace. Elizaveta straightened slowly, wiping her mouth. She spat, trying to remove the sour taste of bile from her mouth, the back of her mind relishing in the small moment of unlady-like behavior.

Elizaveta turned back inside to get away from the too-familiar scene replaying in her mind. She wandered the deserted corridors aimlessly, trying to numb her mind of everything, willing it to clear completely, wiping the slate clean.

She should have told Roderich; this Elizaveta knew. Something inside her, though, forbade it. Elizaveta supposed it was her pride vehemently rejecting the proposal of a plea for help in any form.

Focusing finally, Elizaveta realized she was standing in the doorway of Roderich's room—the piano room, that is. Curious that her body had led her here, she tiptoed inside. She passed the large intricate grandfather clock on her right, paying it little mind.

There, in the center of the room, demanding all attention was the grand piano. She started toward it, her right hand raised slightly as if to touch the glossy surface. The silver light streaming in through the gigantic window made the burgundy wood seem alabaster, making the instrument even more beautiful. And Elizaveta needed a little beauty tonight.

Tears pricked at Elizaveta's eyes, hot and insidious. _Fear._ She blinked rapidly, forcing her lapse in control back into submission.

"Miss Hedervary?" The hesitant, disbelieving whisper shattered the silence.

Elizaveta gasped and whirled toward the sound. Roderich sat, there on the plush window seat, glassed perched low on his nose, with a book propped on his knees.

Scrambling for something, anything to say, Elizaveta stammered, "I-I…Ah, Master Edelstein, I…W-what I mean is—" She stopped when Roderich lifted one of his long hands.

"It's quite alright, Miss Hedervary," Roderich spoke softly before Elizaveta could embarrass herself further. "Like you, I couldn't sleep."

Elizaveta nodded; astounded he hadn't rebuked her at all.

"Your days have indeed been trying," Roderich continued. "Though, today, it seems, was more so than days prior." His tone was polite, controlled. But it wasn't a question; it was an observation.

Elizaveta paled, praying fervently Roderich wouldn't notice due to the silver moonlight that whitewashed the entire room.

Thinking quickly, Elizaveta said, "Feliciano fell today when we were hanging laundry. He was quite shaken." She ended lamely and without conviction, sure now, that he would know something else was amiss.

"Hmm…" Roderich looked at her now, really looked. His violet eyes bored into hers, searching for the source of the first lie she ever uttered to him. Their gazed remained locked for some time, until the ticks of the grandfather clock seemed to slow, suspending them in time.

Roderich made a soft, subtle movement as if to stand up when a high-pitched bawl echoed through the halls.

Both Roderich and Elizaveta started, shocked out of their reverie. Elizaveta bolted from the room, already knowing to whom the pitiful cry belonged.

"Elizaveta!" Came a shout behind her, but she ran until she reached Feliciano's room, breathless from the run and her terror.

The boy was sobbing. He shook with every tremor of fear and helplessness that racked through his tiny frame.

"B-Betta…" He blubbered, holding his chubby arms out to her.

Elizaveta went to Feliciano and perched on his bed as she cradled him against her breast. She quieted the weeping child, murmuring hushed condolences. Elizaveta waited until the sobs ceased, knowing he would tell her in good time. Sometime during, Roderich had reached Feliciano's little room and he watched from the doorway, unsure of where he belonged.

"I—" Feliciano started, but he was interrupted by a hiccup. "I had a bad dream!" He bawled.

"Shh, _kicsi_," Elizaveta whispered. "Dreams do not follow you when you wake."

"But—" Another hiccup. "The man, Betta!" Elizaveta's body went rigid, and it did not go unnoticed by Roderich. "The man will come back!" Feliciano started to cry again.

Unable to think of a dismissive excuse for Roderich, Elizaveta kept her eyes locked on a spot on the wall above Feliciano's head.

"What man?" His voice was low, and dangerous. Roderich would not allow any more lies.

Feliciano turned to Roderich now, eyes watery, but clear, knowing his Betta didn't want him to tell Roderich. But he did anyway.

"He didn't say his name, but was wearing a mask!" Feliciano told Roderich, averting Elizaveta's incredulous gaze.

Roderich whirled on Elizaveta. "Is this true?" He demanded harshly.

She could only nod, for the wound from Feliciano's betrayal was still fresh.

Enraged, Roderich cursed, surprising Elizaveta. Then again, she thought wryly, there were many surprises tonight.

"Get up," Roderich ordered Elizaveta, the master once more. "The time for pretense has passed. Sadiq shall have his war."

-X-

_**So yeah, in case you hadn't already realized, the masked man is Sadiq (Turkey).**_

_**If you see any translational errors, please, PLEASE correct me. I want to get it right.**_

_**Can anyone guess the significance of the tulip~? **_

_**(It's actually not nearly as ambiguous as I wanted it to be…)**_

_**So, as always, reviews are loved.**_

_**~Kaiya**_

_****kicsi: Little one (Hungarian)**_

_******__Jó éjszakát: Good Night (Hungarian)_


	4. Duet

_**Sorry this took so long, everyone. I had a severe case of writer's block and laziness. Both are chronic issues for which I have not found a cure.**_

_**Many thanks go to **_arcissicia _**for her wonderful review! It inspired me to kick my lazy behind into gear!**_

_**Without further ado, I present Chapter 4!**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**_

-X-

The mansion was a whirlwind of activity. Day in and day out, Elizaveta watched servants and messengers come and go. She never saw the same person twice.

Roderich was beside himself. He sent men out of horses carrying desperate telegrams asking for any sort of aid.

Despite his volatile temper, even Roderich had to admit his letters were bringing results.

A Spanish man, by the name of Antonio Carriedo, followed Roderich around, never ceasing his incessant stream of questions. He had a random thought process (or so Elizaveta gathered) and spewed it all out for everyone to hear. Roderich never once complained, though, and for this Elizaveta was surprised. Roderich was never one to put up with pointless chatter, but he made an exception for Antonio since he came to fight, swallowing his urge to tell the oblivious Spaniard to shut it. Feliciano, however, was delighted to have Antonio there, and matched his vivaciousness with his own adorable charm.

Another man popped in occasionally—Herakles Karpusi. Rebelling against the Greek government, Herakles pledged his loyalty to Roderich's fight. Quiet, and good-natured, he aspired to bring back the glory of Ancient Greece. So, naturally, the first course of action was to rally the rebels once more against the Turks. He wasn't one to laugh easily, so often his mind was on battle strategy and philosophy. When he did smile, however, the room would warm back up and ease some of the tension and stress the present conflict was building.

The preparations continued.

-X-

In the late evening, Elizaveta swept the foyer. Roderich was still on his office, the door shut. Methodically, she continued to sweep, her mind full of endless worries. Her master had only been writing telegrams, uniform, and weapon orders all day, every day for the past month, stopping only to discuss recruitment among the few friends who had come.

Elizaveta had managed to get Roderich to have some soup in the middle of the day, insisting he needed to keep his strength. He swallowed it dutifully, but his eyes never left the piles of paper that dominated the usually immaculate surface.

The piano, too, suffered from the ordeal. Roderich hadn't even set foot in his music room for days, or even weeks; Elizaveta had lost track of the time. The mansion was eerily silent, its vast rooms and lofty ceilings magnifying the silence, oppressing the inhabitants.

A thought struck Elizaveta—the same unanswered question that had plagued her for the past month. _Why was Roderich doing this?_

All the preparations for war against Turkey…Roderich had never had any serious problems with Sadiq before. So why now?

Mid broom stroke, Elizaveta had an idea.

-X-

She quickly prepared dinner for the guests, a roasted pork shoulder and dumplings that received many compliments, and tucked Feliciano into bed.

Elizaveta went to the kitchen and checked on the dessert—almost finished. She poured a cup of the coffee she had brewed, added milk and sugar to sweeten it and, halfway out the door, stopped to grab a piece of chocolate to set decoratively on the small plate the mug rested on.

When she reached Roderich's study, she hesitated to knock, but decided instead to open the grand door that was already ajar.

He was alone writing letters with naught but a stub of a candle burning the last inch of its wick as his only companion. Roderich was hunched over the desk, continuing to write feverishly, not even noticing Elizaveta standing in the doorway.

His hair was mussed, Elizaveta noticed, his curl wound tightly, as it always did when Roderich was under a great deal of stress. Though his glasses were askew, he never ceased his maniacal stream of thought to straighten them.

Elizaveta cleared her throat delicately to announce her unceremonious entrance into Roderich's private domain. He looked up, startled, and the maid to noticed the dark hollowness under his eyes, confirming her suspicions.

"Excuse me sir…" Elizaveta apologized.

Roderich shook his head, as if to clear it. "No, no," he coughed. "Come in." He waved his free hand somewhat sporadically, gesturing her to come closer. Elizaveta stepped forward, the sound of her footfalls muffled by the Persian carpet. She tried to keep her lip from curling.

"I thought you would enjoy some coffee, sir," Elizaveta offered.

"Thank you, E—er…Miss Hedervary," he stammered as he coughed again. "But I really must get back to work…" Roderich looked back down at the enormous pile of letters and equipment orders.

Elizaveta took the opportunity to look around, ensuring they were indeed alone. Satisfied, she set the coffee tray down.

"Nonsense," Elizaveta huffed. "You haven't eaten a real meal in weeks. It isn't the best for you, but you aren't doing yourself any good by starving yourself, so drink!" Elizaveta's face was quite red by the end of her tirade, and she began to backtrack, as she realized she may have gone too far.

His face an expression of awe, Roderich could only stare at her.

Horrified, Elizaveta spluttered, "Sir! I, I…" At a loss, she bowed; truly humble, hoping her actions could convey her apology better than her words could.

Roderich coughed again. "It's quite all right, Miss Hedervary," he informed her as he took off his spotless glasses to clean. "You're right; I haven't been eating well lately." Apparently satisfied, he replaced his immaculate spectacles low on the bridge of his nose.

As if too enforce his proclamation, Roderich picked up the coffee and took a hearty sip. He sighed in contentment. "Perfect, as always, Miss Hedervary. Thank you." He looked up at her, and his hand froze halfway back up to his lips, leaving the cup suspended in mid-air.

In the dim candlelight, the fire flickering weakly, Elizaveta positively glowed. Dust motes framed the entirety of her form, reflecting the soft light of the dying flame. Once again, Roderich was speechless, covering his star-struck expression with another cough.

Worried, Elizaveta asked, "Sir? Sir, are you feeling unwell?" Roderich looked up at her again, and noted how the skin in between her brown crinkled when she was distressed. Her hand was reaching toward him, as if her touch alone would bring the cure. Based on how the coughing was invented to give him an excuse not to look at her, Roderich mused it would make it worse.

Though, how he wanted that touch. Roderich craved it, and were he a lesser man, would have sought it out. Her fingers, the ones that so efficiently scrubbed and even practiced swordplay when she thought no one was around, were the same fingers that caressed little Feliciano's hair and tucked him in at night.

Straightening, Roderich replied, "No, no, I am well." He scrambled for an excuse. "It's all the dust…" He finished lamely.

"Oh," Elizaveta seemed to brighten. "Then it will do you some good to get out of this room." She pretended to think, "What about the music room? You haven't played in so long…"

_The piano?_ Roderich thought, surprised.

"Yes," Elizaveta stated authoritatively. She picked up the tray with the uneaten chocolate, leaving the now-cold coffee with Roderich, and swiftly spun out of the room. Roderich was about to protest, for he had really wanted the chocolate, but caught himself before he said something infantile.

Elizaveta, however, hoped he would follow her for the sweet, but was unsurprised when he didn't get up. She deposited the tray in the kitchen, and cut a slice of the _sachertorte_ she had baked earlier that day. She placed it neatly on a simple white plate and proceeded to the piano room.

Once there, she set the plate on the small serving tray that was already in the room, and hesitatingly seated herself at the grand piano. Suddenly terrified, Elizaveta rethought her plan. _Maybe this is a bad idea…_she thought. She shook her head, dislodging the doubts, and began to play.

It was a simple tune, childish compared to the masterpieces Roderich played, but it was pretty. Elizaveta couldn't carry the melody and the support simultaneously, so the song lacked the backbone necessary to carry the beauty and power.

But Elizaveta continued to play; the notes growing louder with her confidence, letting the familiar folk song wash over her and bring comfort.

Roderich was still at his desk when he heard the music. His first reaction was a flash of angry protectiveness over his piano. Then he stilled, listening to the song. It was simple, halting; the person playing it was no master, but he liked it. The song had history and the musician felt it. Like Roderich, the musician loved the music and let fingers play what the heart felt.

Almost unwittingly, Roderich rose, leaving the confines of the dusty room. He followed the notes to his sanctuary, noting the unfamiliar addition to his private hideaway.

Elizaveta sat on the seat, eyes open, focused on the melody. She swayed softly, riding the notes like Roderich has so often done.

A wrong note left a sour twang to the otherwise sweet tune. Elizaveta winced, and looking up, she noticed Roderich standing uncertain in the doorway. Their gazed locked and the music stopped.

Tensed, both Roderich and Elizaveta tried to evaluate the reaction of the other.

Elizaveta spoke first. "There is something for you there." She used her eyes to direct Roderich to the dessert.

He looked; _sachertorte_, his favorite.

"It's _sachertorte_," Elizaveta said unnecessarily. "I—," she cleared her throat, for her voice was unsteady, "I thought you might like it, since you've been working so hard." Her voice had gotten quite small.

"Thank you," Roderich responded, and his thanks was genuine. He headed towards the dessert, and Elizaveta tensed as he neared. She sat ramrod straight, hardly daring to breathe. She took this chance to get Roderich to eat, and she was willing to accept any punishment for assaulting his piano.

He took a bite and looked Elizaveta. Swallowing, he asked, "Why did you stop?"

Elizaveta's heart spluttered painfully. She breathlessly expressed, "What?"

"Why did you stop playing?"

Thoroughly confused, and even more frightened, Elizaveta questioned, "Y—You're not angry with me?"

Roderich cocked his head to the right side. "Of course not. You're playing was lovely." Elizaveta's eyes were wide and she felt her face flush at the comment that could not be true.

"Would you please continue, Miss Hedervary?"

Her mind focused at the familiar formality and Elizaveta turned back to face the keys. After taking a steadying breath, she began again.

Embarrassed by the mediocrity of her talent, Elizaveta made mistake after mistake, embittering the melody. Elizaveta's shoulders were stiff, and her fingers shaky. She began to panic, taking short, shallow pants, distraught that she failed to grant Roderich his request.

She heard him set the plate down, empty; by the way it sounded, but was completely taken aback when Roderich slid in on the bench on her left side. She almost fell backwards, but was caught by Roderich's words. "Keep playing," he whispered.

So she did. She played her simple melody and he embellished every note, every key, giving her tender song wings to fly. His music supported hers, catching it when it was about to fall, and pushing it forward, sailing alongside.

The final measures approached, winding down a minor key like a child sliding down a spiraled banister. They played the last note together, the same note on two different octaves, and, harmonizing, they both met the silence as equals.

The stillness lasted for several beats of Elizaveta's hammering heart. Elizaveta looked up, hoping to catch a secret glimpse of this new Roderich, but found him already looking down at her. Face flushing again at being caught, Elizaveta tried to look away, but was captured by his violet eyes boring into hers.

They began to speak simultaneously, Roderich saying Elizaveta's name, but frightened, Elizaveta stood up quickly, nearly toppling over the back side of the bench.

"I'll take your plate…" Elizaveta picked up the cleared dish and faced the door.

"Elizaveta—" Roderich started.

"I expect you to eat breakfast tomorrow, sir," Elizaveta interrupted. "So you can keep your strength."

Roderich, sighed, conceding.

"Good night, sir." Elizaveta set a quick pace, her boots clicking on the marble.

"Good night, Elizaveta," Roderich whispered, but she was already gone.

Roderich stared after her. She was beautiful; Roderich saw it and knew it the moment he first saw her. Though, Roderich saw more than here external beauty. It hardly mattered. He knew she was desired by other men: the male servants, for a start. Even the messengers and other guests' gazes lingered longer than propriety deemed appropriate. And, of course, there was Sadiq.

Sadiq Adnan, the constant, looming menace that hung over Elizaveta like a poisonous storm cloud. Years before, Sadiq had threatened Roderich under the façade of a twenty-year treaty. Sadiq had warned that when the treaty expires, all Roderich would come to love would be taken from him; in any manner possible. Roderich had always thought it would be trade Sadiq would take—until he brought Elizaveta into his home.

Since then, Roderich had done everything possible to distance himself from Elizaveta.

Roderich dropped his head in his hands. Sadiq knew, even then, that Roderich would be powerless against Elizaveta's many charms.

Only now it was worse. It was worse because Roderich knew now, too.

If Roderich lost this war, Sadiq would take her. Elizaveta would be taken away across the Mediterranean, and though she would resist, Sadiq would torture her until she broke. He would break her body and, slowly, her mind. He would use her, flaunting his power over her and the pain it would cause all who loved her.

Tormented by his fears, Roderich stood, the seat grinding unpleasantly, and shut the coverlet of the keys with a snap.

-X-

_**Phew! *passes out* That took a while…and is quite long…I hope that's a good thing. Hooray for Spring Break! I hope not to take as long for the next chapter…**_

_**-Sachertorte is an Austrian dessert. Basically, it is a chocolate cake with apricot filling.**_

_**-The 20-year treaty was the **_**The Peace of Vasvar**_**, signed in August 1664, that called for a 20-year peace between the Austrians and the Ottomans.**_


	5. News

_**Well, I'm finally back. **_

_**This chapter is the shortest; I just wanted to put something up so you knew I wasn't dead.**_

_**I don't own Hetalia.**_

-X-

Roderich was in the piano room the next morning. He sat in the seat, staring at the stationary keys that brought him no consolation today.

Looking at the grandfather clock, Roderich remembered he had a strategy meeting with Antonio, Herakles, and their superior officers in an hour.

He brought his hands up to the keys, wanting to feel the magic of his music's beauty, but found he could not. Fingers twitching helplessly over the mute keys, Roderich found himself uncharacteristically missing the company of another beside him on the piano seat.

He was brought out of his melancholy reverie by a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Elizaveta opened the door, balancing a large tray with one hand.

"Breakfast, Mr. Edelstein," she chirped, forcing brightness onto her tone. Roderich moved to help her place the tray on the end table, but Elizaveta beat him to it, waving away his silent offer to assist her.

Eyes sparkling with mischief and laughter unfamiliar to Roderich, Elizaveta said, "I'm more than capable, Mr. Edelstein. Here." She gestured to the tray. Coffee, sweet rolls, and oranges from the orchard filled the space, making Roderich's mouth water.

"Enjoy." She curtsied, and turned to leave.

"Miss Hedervary, wait, please," Roderich asked.

Facing him, she tilted her head slightly in silent inquiry.

Roderich cleared his throat, preparing to say what he had promised himself he would say to her. "I would just like to thank you, Elizaveta, for…last night." He coughed again. "For getting me out of my wretched study, I mean." He said this all quickly, but concisely, and looked Elizaveta straight in her eyes when he finished, confirming his sincerity.

Elizaveta's face softened, making room for a small smile—her first for him and him alone.

She curtsied again, "It was my pleasure, Mr. Edelstein." Her eyes found his and, still wearing her soft smile, she left the room.

Elizaveta was in the kitchen when the messenger came. He was garbed in scarlet, riding a near-black stallion that couldn't stand still, as if it felt it had to run away without a moment's hesitation. He announced his arrival and brandished a letter, calling out for the master of the house.

Unable to ignore the ruckus the young man was making, and the scene that was causing all the guests of the mansion to look nervous, Roderich came out onto the front lawn and addressed the messenger boldly.

"What business does your master have for me?" Roderich questioned proudly.

The messenger looked down at him, wearing an expression akin to disdain. "You are Roderich Edelschtien?" He asked, appraising him. From where she stood by the front door, Elizaveta saw Roderich's shoulders stiffen, and imagined his right eyebrow twitching in irritation at what seemed to be a deliberate mispronunciation of his last name.

"I am Roderich Edelstein," he said, forcefully accentuating his last name.

With a grunt of acknowledgement that could have been hiding a snort, the messenger handed the letter down to Roderich while all the servants, soldiers, and generals looked on with breathless anticipation.

"My master will not accept 'no' for an answer," the messenger huffed brashly. "He says 'time is up.'" With that, he spurred his restless horse and galloped away toward his master.

Once the horse and his rider were out of sight, Roderich inspected the wax seal on the letter. Elizaveta saw his jaw clench and felt her heart sink with dread. Anything that distressed Roderich could not be good news.

Roderich motioned to the generals, and, closely followed by Antonio and Herakles, marched quickly and purposefully back into the mansion.

After a pause, all the mansion's staff and underlings of the officers began to move again, and returned to the task they had been doing before the interruption.

Feliciano came up to Elizaveta, with confusion written all over his cherub-like face.

"What's going to happen, Betta?" He asked softy, as if he didn't want to know the answer.

Elizaveta bent down, gently stroked his copper hair, and sighed, "I don't know, _kicsi._" Then Feliciano watched in wonder as her delicate gaze grew steely at some thought he could not grasp. "But I'm going to find out."

-X-

_**Short chapter is short.**_

_**You faithful readers deserve more, but all I can give you is my sincerest of apologies. I did not mean to be so negligent of my writing. I won't even bother pestering you all with excuses. But please accept my apology and rest assured I will devote more of my time to my stories—starting with this one.**_

_**I will finish this story, and then go to my Pokémon one, then Soul Eater.**_

_**They will all be finished. That is the ultimate goal.**_

_**Again, I am sorry, and I hope you will continue reading.**_

_**Much love,**_

_**~Kaiya**_


	6. Time

_**Woah, another update? *le gasp***_

_**No one is more surprised than I am!**_

_**A huge hug and many thanks go to **_Austrian Artemis _**for her beautiful words of encouragement and praise. I never would have updated so quickly if it wasn't for you!**_

_**I do not own Hetalia.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

-X-

After tucking the exhausted little Italian into bed, promising she would make pasta especially for him the next day, Elizaveta crept toward Roderich's study, fully intending to eavesdrop.

The door was tightly shut, but she could see a small sliver of golden candlelight in the crack under the door. She checked to see if anyone was around, listening intently. Satisfied she was alone, Elizaveta gently pressed her right ear to the keyhole.

"—don't see what the issue is, Edelstein." It was the voice of one of the generals. "The letter is clear. If we don't go we risk open war."

"We can't avoid it either," Elizaveta had to concentrate to hear Herakles' soft voice. "It is upon us whether we'd like it or not."

"Herakles is right, Amigo," Elizaveta couldn't tell if the Spaniard was addressing Roderich or the melodramatic general. "In the end, it all comes down to what Señor Edelstein thinks is right."

There was silence then. The only sound was a pair of boots' muffled steps on the rug.

"I need time to think." It was Roderich.

The thin line of light under the door was disrupted as the boots came closer. The door handle began to turn and Elizaveta, terrified she might be caught, sped off as swiftly and silently as her feet could carry her.

-X-

He tossed and turned all night. Vaguely he could remember watching the moon rise, but now the sky was turning from indigo to murky lavender, signifying sun's return to power. Had it really been that long? He didn't remember falling asleep, and he certainly didn't remember waking up. That must mean he didn't sleep.

Time to think indeed.

Sighing heavily, Roderich finally accepted the inevitable. He would meet with Sadiq and discuss matters that had merely been put off for twenty years.

The sky was a blend or orange and pink now; the same color as the flower Elizaveta put in her hair.

Many innocent lives would be lost today if the conversation runs a dark course. And Sadiq wouldn't stop at the soldiers attending the meeting, no. He would kill them all—down to the lowliest private—and make him watch.

Putting his glasses on, Roderich looked out his window. The sun had risen.

Time is up.

-X-

Elizaveta knocked on the door to the music room, tray in hand full of breakfast for Roderich.

There was no response. No calm "enter" from her master.

She slowly opened the door, confused and a little frightened. It was empty.

Right as she was about to head for Roderich's study, Elizaveta heard footsteps coming down the marble stairs. She turned, gasped, and nearly dropped her heavily-laden tray on the floor.

Roderich descended, adjusting one of the cuffs on his long white overcoat. His brows were angled sharply downward and his eyes fierce, glaring at something Elizaveta could not see. She wanted to cry out at the sight of the rifle strapped to his back and the blade on his hip. Roderich, who grew pale and queasy at the sight of Feliciano's blood after he fell, who grew angry when he caught her practicing with a sword, for fear she might hurt herself, and loved sweets more than a child, was carrying weapons. Not gorgeous ceremonial weapons, either. These were honed instruments of death—not at all like his beloved piano, which was an instrument of beauty and grace.

Mouth and throat horribly dry, and chest excruciatingly tight, Elizaveta could only rasp, "Why?"

His eyes grew sad; he obviously didn't want to explain himself.

He stared at her levelly, as if to predict her reaction. Heavily, he responded, "It would have been foolish to deny Sadiq his request. To do so would give him an excuse to strike first. By acquiescing, we agree to be civil, for the moment, at least, and may succeed in lessening our…losses." Roderich seemed to find it difficult to say the last word, as if uttering it aloud may bring about tragedy.

"So you're giving up?" Elizaveta demanded, incredulous. Her eyes were wild with rage and disappointment.

His gaze grew stern in response. "It's not a surrender. It's a discussion of terms."

"Terms," she huffed. Anger loosened her tongue and unleashed the river of previously private thoughts. "Terms of what? Division of the spoils of war? That may not be what Sadiq told you, but believe me when I say that's exactly how he's going to treat this. Going to this meeting will lower your status in his eyes! He will see you as nothing more than—"

"That is _enough_." Elizaveta stopped her incessant stream at Roderich's icy tone. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I would go if there was any other option?" He demanded.

Elizaveta wasn't finished with him yet. "What could possibly be important enough to you for you to contemplate surrender?" She demanded incredulously.

Roderich stiffened. "Never you mind," he retorted, indignant.

Elizaveta's face grew hot, and for the first time, she was embarrassed by her employer's behavior.

"Aren't the things you love worth fighting for?"

At this, Roderich's eyes widened; she had caught him completely off guard. Isn't that what he had been doing all this time? Fighting? But that's not how she saw it. She thought him cowardly.

He would never be a man in her eyes.

"Roderich." It was the gruff voice of one of the generals. "Time to go."

Roderich nodded stiffly and, donning his hat, marched swiftly out the door.

Only Elizaveta could see his hands shake.

-X-

_**Sorry for the shortness again. I think the next chapter will be a long one, though.**_

_**I pretty much have the rest of this planned out, but I have no idea how many chapters are left, though it may be getting close to the end…But don't listen to me now!**_

_**Always,**_

_**~Kaiya**_


	7. Forward

_**It's been a while, but here's your update.**_

_**I needed this time off, I won't lie. With work and prepping for college, I've barely had time to sleep, much less write. However, I've been in California visiting my cousins and I am feeling thoroughly refreshed.**_

_**This chapter will definitely live up to the 'T' rating (for violence), so consider this your warning.**_

_**I do not own Hetalia.**_

-X-

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Roderich, Elizaveta made a quick decision. She sprinted to the kitchen and unceremoniously dumped the still-full tray in the sink, not even flinching at the clattering china.

Using the servant's passageway, Elizaveta ducked into the garden shed, which was now being used to store battle supplies—and spare uniforms. She slammed the sliding door shut, in too much of a hurry to care that it bounced back open.

Elizaveta threw off her apron and many layers of skirts until she was standing only in her chemise. She then grabbed the tightly fitted black pants and stuffed her thin undergarment in, absentmindedly hoping that the long white overcoat would hide the extra bulge around her hips—and her chest, for that matter. Giving a prayer of thanks to anyone who was listening for the hats large enough to hide her hair, she crammed her long locks in the cap, snatched a blade and scabbard, and strode swiftly out on the lawn.

Her transformation was just quick enough for her to file in with the foot-soldiers at the back of the line. Straining her eyes, Elizaveta could barely make out mounted figures at the head of the procession. Elizaveta willed her heart to slow and the adrenalin to leave her veins; she would need her strength.

-X-

The sun was right above them now, and so the troops drove forward. Elizaveta estimated one and a half thousand men marched for Roderich today.

She could only hope it would be enough. The men were tired; their ranks and stringent formations slipped as the day wore on.

Reveling in the freedom of men's garb, Elizaveta kept her pace. She ignored the glances from the troops beside her; with no skirts to hinder her path, fatigue could not touch her. Dust from the road clung to her face, masking her feminine features, and her cap remained securely perched on her head, despite her voluminous hair, and after a while, Elizaveta stopped worrying about being discovered and allowed herself to enjoy the countryside.

Her first journey out of Roderich's mansion in ore years than she cared to count, and it was off to war. Still, beggars can't be choosy.

She could easily imagine running through the lush fields of Austria that were so like her own back home in Hungary.

Home is such a powerful word. A home can be so easily destroyed and stolen, rebuilt. It is a sanctuary, a stable rock in the unpredictable waves of the world. And yet, it is flexible; homes can change, can't they? She would call this foreign country home if she were allowed to keep one thing she had found here.

Elizaveta angrily wiped away the weakness pooling in her eyes.

-X-

The sun had begun to set by the time they reached the Turkish camp. Roderich's troops were exhausted and soon the opposing forces would be in sight.

As Elizaveta crested the top of the final hill, she gasped at the scene before her. The Turks were a sea of red and gold, and splayed across the field against the sky shot with crimson, it was impossible to tell where the army ended and the spectacular sunset began.

As she descended, following the Austrian troops ahead of her, Elizaveta noticed Turkish soldiers nudging one another and emerging from tents to march alongside Roderich's men. They jeered as they followed, pointing and sneering at the tired men.

Elizaveta gritted her teeth and stuck her jaw out, fighting the urge to retaliate. Beside her, some of her fellow men in white did the same, denying the Turks the satisfaction of eliciting a response.

They continued their march through the army until they had crossed through the entire camp. At the end, from a tent grander than the others and set aside, unprotected from the rest, Sadiq emerged, grinning broadly.

The Austrian troops were closer together now, drawn in unwittingly by the claustrophobic atmosphere. Instinctively, Elizaveta's huntress instincts kicked in and she desperately looked for an escape. Everywhere she looked was a scarlet-clad soldier or the wall of a crimson tent. She felt as though she were drowning in red.

Her eyes still searched for relief; she found it in a man garbed in white who was currently dismounting his horse to approach Sadiq.

Sadiq held his arms out wide in an expression of welcome, but even from a distance, Elizaveta could see his black-beetle eyes glittering with undisguised malice.

Roderich strode forward stiffly, his back rigid as he tried to take over a piece of the spectacle. Sadiq had the upper hand—in location of the meeting and overall imposing physique.

The silence remained and the tension built as the two leaders stared each other down. The generals, so eager to take charge before, were cowering in their saddles, and even though they were mounted on their steeds, they were still heads shorter than the large Turk.

Elizaveta snapped out of her mental reprimanding of the generals at the sound of Roderich's voice. "I have come, Sadiq. I have come to finish this at last." His voice was high and clear. It wasn't the cold, dismissive tone he used when he was angry or the short, taught voice he used when he was afraid. This was different and it heartened her slightly. There was something hidden within his voice, a certain masculine protectiveness that Elizaveta had never heard before.

Against logic, Sadiq's smile broadened. "At last!" He repeated. "Young Roderich has plucked up his courage, I see. I must say, my boy, I am impressed." A mocking chuckle spread collectively through the Turkish army.

"I assume you are prepared for the negotiations, then?" Roderich demanded, reclaiming the scene.

Sadiq sneered, "Of course." Arms still spread open wide, he gestured up the hill to his striking tent.

"You may bring some of your men with you, Roderich, if it makes you feel more comfortable," Sadiq said derisively.

Roderich tensed. To accept would mean losing this round—not to mention looking weak and cowardly. On the other hand, refusing to bring soldiers into an enemy's ground would be foolish. Elizaveta could see him debating this and took her chance to advance, knowing what he would decide.

Roderich nodded to the captain of the first squadron and the captain saluted. The captain gestured to the first two lines to follow. Elizaveta merged in with the troops, earning her quizzical looks, but none of the footmen said a word. She could only pray no one would count.

With Roderich in the lead, Antonio and Herakles close behind, and the generals nowhere in sight, the group trudged up the hill after Sadiq with as much dignity as their tired limbs would allow.

Once inside the enormous tent, which was, like the rest of the camp, a hellish nightmare of red, Sadiq gestured for Roderich to sit as he lowered himself on a voluptuous pillow. Roderich hesitated, but then slowly sat down across from Sadiq with only a low table to separate them. Everyone else remained standing, tense and expectant. Only two men stood behind Sadiq.

"So," Sadiq stated broadly after a suitable amount of time had passed, thus allowing Elizaveta and the others to grow uncomfortable. His heavy musk smell filled the enclosed space and was beginning to make Elizaveta dizzy.

"So," Roderich repeated, his tone bordering on condescending. Elizaveta's heart leaped at his courage, but silently begged him not to go too far.

Sadiq's eyebrow twitched—his only response. "You have acknowledged our meeting," he began expansively. "And you have not come with what is most precious to you. However, you have not come unprepared. Pity your efforts will come to naught; it's a shame to destroy so much and gain so little." Maliciousness filled the very air; it came off him in waves. "Not to impugn your efforts thus far, Roderich, for I am sure they have been extensive," Sadiq added disdainfully.

"Indeed they have," Roderich responded. "We have been gathering for quite some time."

"So I see. But really, Roderich, so few?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "Why, one might think you weren't even trying," Sadiq's gaze grew sharp as his eyes bore into Roderich's. "Perhaps…" He began again, "She can't mean that much to you after all."

_She?_ Elizaveta thought, completely perplexed.

Roderich tensed. _If he gets any more riled up, he's going to scream in Sadiq's face, _Elizaveta thought.

Roderich didn't say a word.

Elizaveta was itching to find out who _she _was, but now was not the time. Try as she might, the heavy aroma made her brain sluggish, and Elizaveta found herself drifting. One moment she would be in the tent, hearing Roderich and Sadiq play word games (which she had never been fond of) and the next she would be dwelling over this mysterious figure…_she…_Who could that be?

"Elizaveta—"

Like a knife slicing through the fog in her mind, Elizaveta refocused.

"—is not part of this," Roderich stated forcefully. Elizaveta listened intently, wide-eyed.

"Ha! How could she not be?" Sadiq leaned forward, and it was easy to imagine saliva dripping from canine fangs. "You owe me Roderich—for not squashing you twenty years ago."

"I owe no—" But Sadiq cut him off.

"Enough wordplay. I'll put it simply: give me the girl, or I slaughter every boy and man you have gathered here today. I'll find her, Roderich, it's only a matter of time…and how much life you are willing to lose. Either way, the blood spilt will be on your hands."

Elizaveta wouldn't listen to any more.

"What?"

-X-

Her voice cut through the air like a whip.

"What?"

Roderich whirled around, horrified.

She stood be the tent's entrance, garbed in a white military uniform. Roderich had no idea how he hadn't noticed her before; she wasn't exactly in perfect uniform. Her shape was poorly concealed, and the delicate ribbons from the top of her chemise were visible over the neck of the overcoat.

Was this courage? Or blatant stupidity?

Sadiq leaned back, apparently at ease.

"Elizaveta, I was wondering how long you could keep quiet."

Roderich faced him and shouted angrily, "You knew she was there?"

"Of course. She doesn't exactly have the figure of a man." At this his eyes raked her form unabashedly, his gaze hungry.

Roderich stepped in front of Sadiq's field of vision, shielding Elizaveta from view.

"Elizaveta," Roderich began, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Get out of here."

Elizaveta was flabbergasted, "Get out? Why? If I can stop this—"

` "Get out NOW!" Roderich yelled as he unsheathed his rapier.

"Seize her," Sadiq ordered. "The rest are of no use to me."

The two guards flanking Sadiq suddenly leaped into action, faces blank, expressionless masks. Antonio engaged one and Roderich deflected a blow from the other, still standing in front of Elizaveta. Herakles wasted no time by leaping straight for Sadiq himself. Sadiq drew his long blade and blocked Herekles' attack, but his size and strength overwhelmed the lean Greek. Sadiq countered and back-handed Herakles' skull.

Antonio fared better; he and the Turkish guard were evenly matched. Antonio made up for their difference in size in speed. He dodged every attack, countering with light jabs to keep the other man occupied.

Roderich was skilled with a blade; that much was obvious. Though he loathed weapons, even Elizaveta could not help but admire his eerie grace and precision.

Roderich saw an opening in the Turk's defense, and took his chance quickly and efficiently. The man fell as Roderich withdrew his blade form his torso.

Turning and grabbing Elizaveta by the shoulders he said urgently, "You have to leave, now. He'll take you away from—"

"Roderich, look out!" Antonio screamed.

Roderich's eyes widened in shock as the Turkish guard Antonio was fighting moments ago slipped his blade in Roderich's back.

"No!" Elizaveta screamed as the Turk drew his blade back. Roderich began to fall, and Elizaveta caught him with her left arm. With her right, she drew her blade and ran it cleanly between the man's ribs. He dropped like a marionette whose strings were cut, flopping onto the floor in a pile of functionless limbs.

A pool of red was blossoming perilously quickly on the back of Roderich's white coat, sending Elizaveta into a blind haze of panic.

Herakles came up to her and grabbed her face with both of his hands, forcing Elizaveta to look him directly in his wise olive eyes.

"Elisabet," Herakles whispered intently. "Elisabet, you must listen." Elizaveta tore her gaze away from Roderich's troops surrounding Sadiq and directed her attention to Herakles.

"You must take him back to the mansion, Elisabet. Sadiq knows where it is, but it is safe and well supplied. You must hurry; take Roderich's horse and do not stop."

Elizaveta nodded and tore out of the tent.

She barely heard Sadiq yell for his men to arrest her; she was so frightened for Roderich.

Elizaveta all but threw him on his grey-dappled palomino and leaped onto the saddle behind him. She searched for an exit, but only saw the two armies in a frenzy.

She spurred the stallion forward, through the throng. Most of the men parted at the galloping horse, but some weren't quick enough. Elizaveta could only hope she only trampled the ones in red.

It was dark now, and even though she was now clear of the horrible camp, she could hear the clanging of metal and the occasional cracking fire of a gun.

She rode hard, pushing the steed faster, praying that Roderich could hold on.

"Stay with me," Elizaveta whispered.

-X-

_**I hope I didn't disappoint; this was quite challenging.**_

_**The end is nigh! Full speed ahead!**_

_**Always,**_

_**~Kaiya**_

_**-"Elisabet" is the Greek version of Elizabeth. I like the idea of everyone having their own way to address Elizaveta.**_

_**-Again, this story is mostly AU, so I won't always be historically accurate.**_


	8. Worry

_**Well hey there! It's me again, but a few things have changed since you last saw me.**_

_**I'm sitting in my college dorm room, and guess what? I'm going to NDK! (Provided I can get a ride…) I'll be going as Hungary in her red skirt~**_

_**Give me a shout if you see me!**_

_**Definite "T" rating in this chapter, also.**_

_**I do not own Hetalia.**_

-X-

If the journey to the awful camp seemed long, it was nothing like what Elizaveta was feeling now. The trek out stretched on, sure enough, but it was the first glimpse of freedom she had since arriving at Roderich's home.

Elizaveta was terrified. The steed was slowly becoming fatigued, and the blossom of red on Roderich's coat continued to spread, staining her, as well. She never got to dress his wound, so focused was she on getting him out of that accused place. But now she was truly afraid, that for once her rash actions had cost her something dearly. She always acted before giving the repercussions a single thought. Never before had they held such a heavy weight—and loss.

Elizaveta shook herself out of her spiraling despair. Roderich was still alive, though only barely. His already pale skin was now a shocking alabaster, bleached even more by the pale light of the indifferent moon. Every time he began to slide off the galloping stallion, Elizaveta would tighten her arms around him and lean forward, pinning him to the horse's muscular neck.

Finally, a ghostly shape appeared ahead of the miserable party. Never before had Elizaveta been so happy to see her once-prison.

She released the reins, wrapped her arms around Roderich's limp form, and dropped to the ground all before the steed came to a complete halt. Trusting the exhausted equine to see himself to the stable for a well-deserved rest, Elizaveta dashed inside, half-dragging Roderich to the first room she could reach—hers.

"Betta!" Elizaveta halted suddenly, both terrified and elated at the small voice calling for her.

"Feliciano?" Elizaveta found the little Italian running toward her as he wrapped his chubby arms around her leg.

"You're back!" He hiccupped. "I was so afraid, Betta!" He continued to sniffle, almost hysterically.

Though she felt for the young one, her _kicsi_, Roderich needed her now. "Feli? Feli, my little one, you must go get bandages, do you understand? You must be brave, _kicsi_."

Feliciano looked up at her with fear and wonder, seemingly at a loss. But then his gaze grew into what for him would be considered fierce, and with one long look at the unconscious Roderich, he nodded solemnly and scurried off.

Her heart filled with wild pride for little Feliciano, Elizaveta turned once more toward her room. She set Roderich down on her bed as gently as possible, horrified his motionlessness. Stopping only to remove her own heavy jacket, Elizaveta then bent down to tend to the injured man before her.

She carefully slid off his ruined overcoat, being excruciatingly careful not to jar his wound. His collared shirt was harder to remove. The thin silk was plastered to his body from the blood, and the parts that had dried clung to the shirt like glue.

Elizaveta quickly ran to her tiny closet and tore it apart looking for her sewing scissors. She finally unearthed them and rushed back to Roderich's side. The fine material cut easily, Elizaveta noted absently and with relief. She tossed the discarded thin strips onto the floor, some of them white, some red, and some a messy, spattered collage of both.

With Roderich's top completely gone, Elizaveta began to dress his nightmarish wound. Using water from her basin on her dresser and one of her nightgowns, Elizaveta cleaned in and around the gaping hole, and, with no small difficulty, managed to flip him over to finish the other side.

Feliciano came back into the room, then, bandages in hand. His lower lip was trembling; never before had he seen so much blood. It was his first look into the cruelties Elizaveta had tried so hard to hide from him.

She took the cloths from Feliciano's tiny hands, giving them a small squeeze of reassurance, and wrapped Roderich's torso to prevent more blood from escaping.

Left Roderich laying on his stomach and pulled the sheets over him. Gathering the soiled clothes and murky pink water basin, Elizaveta turned to leave for fresh supplies.

Feliciano stared up at her, a blankness in his eyes that made her want to cry. She bent down so she could look at him squarely and said, "Feli, I know it's unfair for me to ask, but could you stay here with Mr. Edelstein? He needs someone here. I won't be long; I'm just getting more bandages for him." She was unsure of how he would react.

Feliciano nodded, tears pooling in his gorgeous amber eyes. "I'll help Mr. Austria. Just like I helped Grampa, but this time it will be different. Because Mr. Austria will live, right? He'll live, won't he, Betta?"

This time, Elizaveta couldn't keep the tears at bay. To hide them, Elizaveta squashed Feliciano in a tight hug. Why? Why had her little _kicsi _seen these horrors before? And worse, she did not know. She thought she knew everything about her little one, but he was brave enough and strong enough to hide this from her. But _why_? He shouldn't have to. He should be able to live the beautiful, carefree life he deserved. But it was a life she could not give him. She wasn't strong enough. The world, in all its cruelties, kept her _kicsi _from finding happiness. She was small. Weak and at the mercy of powerful tyrants like Sadiq, who would readily destroy everything she loved and rule over anything left with a cruel, merciless fist.

"Yes, _kicsi_," Elizaveta whispered. "He will live." She shut her eyes tightly, dispelling the last drops of moisture. Feliciano patted her back gently, acknowledging the pain they shared.

Elizaveta stood, and picked up the things she dropped. With one last smile at Feliciano, she turned, but her heart stopped at the sound of her name.

"E-Elizaveta…?" It was a coarse, weak whisper, and if the mansion wasn't so deathly silent, Elizaveta would have never heard it.

"R-Mr. Edelstein!" She pivoted sharply, sloshing the tainted water onto the marble floor.

"No! Don't get up!" She yelled at him, for he had indeed tried to sit up from his position on his stomach.

He fell back down, and grunted from the extra pressure.

"Elizaveta…"

"No, just stay there, R-Mr. Edelstein." Her heart was pounding, and oddly fluttery, so shocked was she that he had used her first name. Then again, she thought with a sudden epiphany, he had been using her first name for a while now. Why hadn't she noticed until now…?

"Elizaveta," Roderich whispered, louder this time.

"I'll be right back!" She all but shouted, exiting the room.

Roderich sighed, and relaxed into a more comfortable position.

"Mr. Austria?" Little Feliciano said, hesitant. Roderich's lips curved upward slightly at Feliciano's nickname for him. Now was not the time for a lecture in propriety.

Roderich looked at the little Italian as a gesture for him to continue.

"Umm…" He looked very unsure of himself.

"What is it?" Roderich was genuinely curious; Feliciano didn't often address him directly. In fact, this was the first time he had done so, Roderich realized, surprised, and just a little but disgusted with himself. Had he really been so distant? Of course he had been; he had made a point of it.

"I just…" He gulped, and finding his resolve somewhere, all but shouted, "Betta was really worried about you! But she's too afraid to say so!" This seemed to take a lot of effort, and Feliciano blushed deep red like he always did when he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

Roderich blinked, shocked. "She's…afraid of me?" That hurt more than the gaping hole in his chest.

Feliciano shook his head roughly, looking distressed. "She's not afraid of you! She's afraid of what she'll be like if she lets herself worry." His eyes were wide as they pleaded for Roderich to understand.

"Afraid of worrying." Roderich's thoughts drifted. Of course he could understand. By maintaining a safe distance, the danger of seeming weak is nullified. He did the same thing, of course. He distanced himself from Elizaveta to protect her, but only earned her hatred. What did she distance herself from? Something to keep her from worrying. She certainly didn't keep her distance from Feliciano: they were as close as mother and child. Then who?

"She doesn't hate you, Mr. Austria."

Roderich was shocked out of his reverie.

"What?"

"Betta doesn't hate you."

Roderich blinked again at the Italian's bluntness. Was this wisdom?

Roderich chuckled darkly. "Even if that was true, I wouldn't deserve any less."

Feliciano shook his head defiantly and said, "That's not true."

Puzzled, Roderich sank again into thought, and somewhere in the back of his mind, cherished the thought that the woman he loved didn't hate him and maybe even worried about him.

_If only…_

-X-

Elizaveta clipped over the solid marble toward the kitchen and dumped the filthy rags into the wash basket. After dumping the waste water outside, went back in and opened the pantry for fresh linens.

A black shadow filled her vision. _Funny_, she thought, the closet was dark, but never so dark she couldn't see. The shadow shifted, wafting a putrid, sweet aroma toward her.

Elizaveta froze, rooted to the spot with pure unadulterated fear.

"I thank you for leaving the door open, sweetheart. I would have had a hard time finding my way in, otherwise." Sadiq emerged from the pantry, his entire form the shadow Elizaveta saw.

Feeling her stomach drop to her feet, Elizaveta vaguely recalled not shutting the secret door all the way in her rush to catch up with Roderich's troops.

Smirking, Sadiq offered a tulip to her. Adrenalin spiked in her system, making her heart pound and her blood run hot. She whipped around and grabbed one of the many frying pans from the spot where they hung on the wall, and impacted the flat side into Sadiq's temple.

Because of their drastic height difference, the impact didn't have nearly the effect she thought it would. Sadiq staggered a bit, though, and Elizaveta readied herself for another blow.

She wouldn't run; she wouldn't hide. She was done with those things.

Sadiq stumbled a few more steps, and then shook his head, dispelling the last effects of Elizaveta's frying pan.

He turned and glared at her savagely, undisguised hatred in his eyes. He came at her like a bull, and unable to fight his brute force and strength, Elizaveta fell as he collided with her, and her skull cracked against the stone floor, making her lose her senses for a moment.

Still dizzy, Elizaveta could feel Sadiq's crushing weight on top of her, and his meaty hands on her shoulders, shaking her senselessly.

"You listen to me, bitch," Sadiq snarled. "I came for one purpose: to get revenge on that bastard, Roderich. And no Hungarian whore is going to get in my way, got it?"

Her eyes sparkling with fury, Elizaveta spat back, "Revenge? For what? And how in Hell am I your best way to achieve that?"

At this Sadiq laughed, coldly, maliciously. "Are you really that stupid? Can you not see the way he looks at you? Though," he chuckled mirthlessly. "Most men do."

At this, he dragged his hands down from her shoulders to her hips, and lingered there. Elizaveta squirmed futilely, struggling against his superior strength.

Elizaveta fought at the angry tears pooling. Men always took what they wanted. Always. They saw it, and took it. There were no exceptions.

But there was. And he was in her bed, bleeding, dying.

Elizaveta gathered every ounce of her strength, and with newfound ferocity, curled her legs up under Sadiq and drove her boots into the delicate part of his chest. Rolling backward, she grabbed her frying pan once more and leapt forward to attack.

Because there was an exception.

-X-

_**Phew! After nearly two months of procrastination, I got this done in one sitting.**_

_**Mwaha.**_

_**-Mr. Austria is Feliciano's nickname for Roderich because, obviously, that's where he is from. Just a little bit of reminiscent cuteness from our favorite Chibitalia~**_

_**Maybe I'll get the next chapter up sooner, since I'm all motivated. I'm even wearing my flower behind my ear for inspiration~**_

_**I may be starting another story soon, but it will likely be a one-shot, or at least fairly short.**_

_**Until next time!**_

_**Always,**_

_**~Kaiya**_


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